


The Space In Between

by taralkariel



Series: Road to War [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Red Room, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taralkariel/pseuds/taralkariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an undisclosed location in Russia, there is a school that trains young women to be deadly assassins. When one of their first missions fails, the asset known as the Winter Soldier is brought in to train them. The girls all benefit from his influence, but none more than Natalia Romanova. (WinterWidow, alternating narrators)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the Blood Lying on the Floor

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to the rest of the series; the last chapter takes place during "I Would For You." Titles are from the How to Destroy Angles song.

The glove is not close-fitting enough and keeps getting caught between the plates that make up his hand.  It won’t slow him down when he has to get to work, but it is difficult to refrain from fidgeting.  Though such an action won’t blow his cover, he has been ordered to avoid notice.  So he walks silently in the crowd, keeping his eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead and doesn’t look at any of the people moving around him.

It’s been a few hours of this and he’s getting restless.  But he hasn’t received confirmation that it’s time to finish his job, so he continues his circuitous path up and down the same few blocks; his route is long enough that casual observers will not register his continued presence.  More dedicated observes are at least unlikely to give him more than a passing glance.  The standard mission gear he wears is hidden by civilian attire similar to those around him and is generic enough to not to attract unwanted attention.

There is a buzz in his ear as his comm device comes to life.  “Mission is a go,” an unknown voice tells him.

Protocol dictates that he reply, but he does not.  Speaking aloud would be unwise in his present location.  He is outside of the hotel he was sent to infiltrate, and talking to someone who isn’t there, even to say a single word of understanding, might be noticed.  They are on guard and expecting some kind of threat to ward off before morning.  He does not intend for that to be him.

Adjusting his trajectory slightly, he walks up the steps and into the hotel lobby.  The door is one of those circular ones, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets to push his way through.  The interior is somehow a surprise, though he has done recon here already.  For some reason, he seemed to expect a fancy restaurant inside instead of a somewhat run-down lobby.  The idea is irrelevant and he pushes it away as he shoves his hands back in his pockets.  The faint whirring of his arm is fortunately muffled by his coat.

The concierge looks up at him, almost warily, and he wonders if something about him, about what he does, can be noticed at a glance.  But then the man adopts a polite expression and he reluctantly approaches the front desk.

“I’m afraid there are no vacancies, sir.”

“I have a reservation,” he answers, aware that his tone is likely too clipped for the situation, especially as the concierge’s politeness looks a little more forced.

“Name?”

No sir this time.  “Kaplan,” he responds and waits patiently while the name (whose name?  Not his, certainly) is found on the list of guests.

“Here you are, sir, room 325.  Take the elevator to the third floor and turn left.  Ring if you need any assistance,” he continues as he holds out a key.

Pulling his hands out of his pockets again, he reaches for it using his left hand.  An irrational fear that the metal of the key might make a strange noise against the metal hand crosses his mind, but the glove does its job at keeping the state of his left arm unknown.  “Thanks,” he mutters, then turns away.

The elevator is the kind that requires him to open two gates, and lock them before pulling the lever to send him upstairs.  In earlier days, someone would have been working here and taken him to the floor he desired, but that luxury is no longer affordable to the establishment.  That and other reasons are why this place was chosen, though not by him.  Others selected it as a safe location, and he is here because those whose orders he follows determined they merited a visit from someone like him.

Once inside his room, he sets down the pack he’s been carrying all day.  Checking into a hotel without one would be strange; though walking around with it was a gamble.  Peeling off his coat, he considers it fortunate that no one has paid him any attention thus far.  It will make the rest of his job easier.  He has had a few missions where someone saw him, and his intentions, before he would have preferred, but he ended up being successful nonetheless.  It just required a little more thinking on his feet.

Inside of his pack is a disassembled sniper rifle, a few handguns, two grenades, a smoke bomb, and his three favorite knives.  He pulls out the first of these and puts it together, taking his time.  Setting it on the bed, he arranges the rest in pockets or straps on his person, then checks the time.  Not yet.  After a moment of consideration, he sinks into the upholstered chair near the window and looks out silently.

 

“Subject is arriving, do you copy?” the comm in his ear asks a little shortly.

He smiles slightly, remembering that he hadn’t answered earlier.  “In position.”

“Proceed as planned.”

“Copy.”

Surging to his feet, he checks his inventory briefly then uses his pack to cover up his rifle, still lying on the bed.  He shouldn’t need it, at least not for this part of the job.  Silently, he moves outside and checks the corridor; nothing.  The target’s room is directly above his.  Listening hard, he determines it’s safe to proceed, and goes back into his room, and to the window.  The old brick of the building proves easy to climb, though he came prepared if that was not the case.  His metal fingers are particularly helpful.

There is a ledge outside each window, running along their bases.  He precariously settles himself on the one just east of the target’s room, thankful that the sun has long since gone down.  It is also beneficial that he is in an alley, so the number of people who might see him is quite low and can be dealt with from his perch.  The lights are on in the target’s room and he waits patiently for them to turn off.

After a while, they do, and he moves closer to the window, using his left hand as carefully as possible to lift the glass; there isn’t a screen.  When it is open enough for him to fit, he pauses and listens to the interior.  It is the top of the floor, and is a suite rather than a single room.  No one should be in the living area where he is.

Dropping to the floor just inside, he crouches for a moment to make certain he has not been noticed.  Then he moves silently to the closet five paces to his left.  The darkness is absolute, but he knows what he’s doing.  The closet doors will squeal, but that’s not a problem.  He wrenches them open and slips inside, finding the safe on the floor at the back.  Safe-breaking is not something in which he is particularly versed, but he doesn’t need to be gentle about it.  His metal arm proves its usefulness as he yanks the door open.  It’s not the most secure of safes, as the general state of the hotel indicated, and it only takes a couple of tries to gain access.

He can hear sounds of alarm in the other room, of people getting up and moving in his direction.  Time to hurry.  Pulling the documents out of the safe, he folds them in half and tucks the packet into his belt.  Then he gets to his feet and twists out of the way just in time to avoid a knife attack.  Not his target, he thinks as he pulls out one of his own weapons and defends himself.  The other man goes down in a matter of seconds, perhaps unprepared for his response.

The target is in the living room, the whites of his eyes just barely visible in the moonlight from the window.  He is unsurprised when another assailant jumps at him as soon as he’s cleared the closet.  This man is larger and better trained.  They trade a few blows, mostly dodged, before he gets a good grip and flings the man out the window.  He isn’t sure that will fit in with the parameters of the assignment, but shouldn’t be too far off-book.

“Please!  Stop!  I have money, I can pay you,” the target speaks at last, blubbering.

He turns to face him, cocking his head.

“Please, I’ll give you whatever you want!”

“I already have your intel,” he suggests.

The man’s eyes widen.  “But you don’t know how to use it!  You need me!”

Glancing down at the folded papers, he shakes his head slowly as he looks back up.  “We want to stop you, not use it,” he explains, voice cracking slightly from disuse.

The man swears, but he puts an end to the conversation before it can continue.  Wiping the blood carefully off of his knife, he tucks it away and does a quick survey of the suite to be sure there is minimal evidence of his presence.  Other than the wreckage, of course.  Then he goes to the window and is relieved to see that no one has come to investigate the man who went through it.  He slips out and down the wall, returning to his own room.  To leave now would be quite suspicious.  So, pulling a sandwich out of his bag, he settles in for the night.


	2. Sense the Crowd Expecting Something More

Slowly, she stretches out her right leg on the bannister beside her, bending her left knee as low as she can before straightening.  Taking a deep breath, she repeats the move with her other leg.  Glancing behind her, she smiles at the girls reassuringly; some look pretty nervous.  “Ready, everyone?” she murmurs, voice covered by the orchestra outside.  The girls behind her nod, some more hesitantly than others.  For most, this is their first mission, and, while the dancing is second nature, what follows it will provide a good reason to be nervous.

She is one of the youngest, but was the first chosen to go on a mission.  With the greatest amount of experience in the field, she is in charge of the other nine girls in her program; at least while out here.  There are numerous others of higher rank than she is when they return to base, and she will have to relinquish the authority.  Which is fine; she prefers not to have the responsibility of people following her orders.  Too many variables that she would rather deal with on her own.

The music changes and she lifts herself onto her toes, glancing back once more to see if the others are copying her. They are.  Gracefully, she dances out onto the stage and begins their routine.  It last forty-seven minutes before the first break.  Some of the girls leave the stage and return in that time, but, as the lead, she is present for most of it.  During intermission, the girls go backstage and prepare for the second half.

“You’re doing well, Natalia,” Yelena says, appearing beside her as they stretch.

She smiles.  “As are you, my friend.”

Yelena glances toward the others and then lowers her voice.  “You think they’ll be able to survive the next step?”

“I think we’ve lost enough of our sisters and I’d rather not lose any more.”

A grim smile crosses over her friend’s face.  “Yes, that’s true.  You don’t want to be the best, Natalia?” she teases.

She clears her throat.  “I will do what I must for my country, whether that requires me to work alone or as a team,” she answers stiffly, but then grins.  “But hopefully better than anyone else is.”

Yelena laughs.  “Well, I can’t say you’re going to get much competition from any of us.  What’s it like being the star pupil?  Going on missions with just the Madame?”

Shrugging, she adjusts the laces on her legs.  “I’d rather go on my own,” she admits softly.

“Maybe we will be sent together.  That would be fun, don’t you think?”

She considers.  “Yes, I think we would enjoy it.  I just hope we wouldn’t get too distracted from our mission,” she adds with a cheeky smile.

“Have they picked groups for tonight’s mission yet?” Yelena asks seriously.

“I don’t know.  I think it’s supposed to be random.  We’ll get our keys after the performance.”

“Alright.  Well, good luck out there, Nat.  See you on the other side.”

“Let’s make Madame proud,” she replies.

The lights are flickering in the auditorium, and they set themselves for the rest of the show.  Natalia is not as integral this time and gets to rest a little more.  Still, she is exhausted by the end and not looking forward to conducting a mission before bed.  Of course, then she would just be a regular dancer and where would the fun be in that?

 

In her dressing room after the show, there are quite a few flowers.  She ignores them all except the chamomiles, an odd addition.  As expected, she finds two keys hidden in the base; one for her room, one for her mission.  They are labelled with the name of the hotel about a block from her current location.  Their presence energizes her, and she changes out of her costume and into street clothes.  Slinging her pack over her shoulder, she makes her way toward the real objective of the evening.

The night air is cool on her skin, a relief after the exertion of the dance.  Soon, though, she begins to feel a little chilled and hurries to the hotel.  The steps up it are gilded and the carpet under her feet is plush and carefully maintained.  She is relatively certain that she was assigned to the most luxurious of the locations, and cannot help but feel a little smug about that.  Once her mission is over, she will certainly enjoy having the room to herself until morning.  Then she’ll have to go back to base, back to her real life.

People passing by her occasionally smile, some likely recognize her from her show shortly before.  Others’ excuses are less apparent, but perhaps it is because she is barely twenty and they are men.  She smiles back beatifically, disarmingly.  Her confidence in her ability to complete the mission, bolstered by the successful performance, must be contagious.  The man who holds open the doors seems quite blown away, and would be an easy mark.  It’s unfortunate that he has nothing she wants.

“Good evening, miss,” the concierge says as she approaches the desk.  “What can I do for you?”

“I have a reservation under Kendall, I believe,” she answers, her smile conspiratorial.

“Very good, miss,” he replies, checking the registry.  After a moment, he glances back up at her, almost apologetic.  “You checked in two days ago, have you lost your key?”

Her smile doesn’t waver.  “Oh, no, I have it.  I was just hoping for a room service menu,” she explains.  Her hasty perusal of the list of names goes unnoticed.

Pleased to be of service again, he is all too willing to provide the menu and offer his advice.  Seeing no reason not to, she accepts his recommendations, then heads up to her room to await her dinner.  The other room to which she has a key is just down the hall from hers.  She slows as she passes it, listening hard, but cannot determine if it is occupied now or not.  It shouldn’t be for long, but she’ll give them plenty of time to clear out.  Running into the occupants would be awkward, to say the least.

As she is settling in, the knock at the door indicates her food has arrived.

“It’s open!” she calls lightly.

A man pushing a cart soon appears in the doorway and she adopts her best smile.  “Room service,” he says, not immediately responding to her.

“Oh, it smells delicious!” she asserts, going to stand next to him.

He glances at her a little nervously, then smiles.  “I hope you enjoy it, miss.”

“I’m sure I will.  It’s just unfortunate that I don’t have anyone to share it with,” she adds wistfully.

Looking surprised, he opens his mouth but it takes a moment for him to share his thought.  “My shift’s about to end if, I don’t know, I mean…” he stutters.

“I think you’d make excellent company,” she purrs.

Once the door is closed behind him, he is easy enough to subdue.  They always are, when they’re surprised.  She drugs him once he’s out so he won’t be a problem later, and so he will be unlikely to remember her.  Then she changes into the hotel uniform hanging in her closet, and heads out.  The cart of food completes her disguise, though her stomach growls in protest when she decides she should get this over with first.

The hallway is silent and she doesn’t expect to be seen.  It’s awfully late.  She walks down to the other door, pushing the cart in front of her, and knocks lightly.  No response; good.  Pulling out the key, she lets herself in and tucks it back into a pocket.  The room is exactly like hers, with a sitting area, a bed, and a bathroom.  Both are larger and more luxurious than any she’s experience before, but she pushes the thought away.  Now is no time to act like a tourist.

Signs of occupation fill the room, but nothing indicates anyone has been here in a few hours.  Moving silently, she assesses the contents of the place and searches for any paperwork.  She was sent to gather intel, mostly files, but doesn’t get very far before she hears voices behind her.  Hastily, she moves back toward the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing?” a large man snarls from the hall as she reaches the doorway.

“Did you not order room service?” she asks innocently, her expression one of confused concern.

“No, girl, get out of here,” the same man continues.  There are two more, one his size and one much smaller; clearly the target and his body guards.

“I do apologize,” she says contritely.  “I hope you are all having a nice stay,” she calls over her shoulder as she pushes her cart away.  The man who spoke to her remains in the hallway as she leaves, the others going into the room.  He is clearly watching her, so she heads back to the elevator, cursing mentally.  They weren’t supposed to come back tonight.   Something must have gone wrong.


	3. Opened Up, Proudly On Display

In the morning, he doesn’t erase all evidence of his presence, as that would be suspicious.  Instead, it looks much like any other room where someone spent the night and left in the morning.  At least, he hopes that’s what it looks like.  Carefully packing up his weaponry, he swings his bag over his shoulder and heads out.  It’s early, not long after dawn, so not many are stirring.  The concierge is distantly polite when he checks out, and he’s back on the street again.

Travelling north and then west, he makes his way slowly to the extraction point.  There is no reason to rush; the mission is done and no one is going to come looking for him.  Well, at least none of the authorities.  The compatriots of his target will certainly look, but they won’t find him.  He’ll disappear, which is easy when you’re put into cryo-freeze for unspecified amounts of time.  His handlers never tell him details, but he knows it’s a long time.

The streets are mostly empty at this time of morning; the commute hasn’t really started yet.  A few early risers pass him by, always in a hurry.  They are content to ignore him, and he is happy to do the same.  After twenty minutes, he supposes his handlers might be beginning to worry, and moves with a little more purpose than before.  A few short blocks later, he finds a parking garage and walks up the ramp from the street.

After he finds the elevator, he takes it to the fourth floor and waits patiently for the doors to open.  Then he walks directly north across the pavement to an unmarked van.  The rest of the garage is about half full, but none of the vehicles are on and there’s no sign of any other patrons.  He pulls open the side door of the van easily, as it is unlocked, and jumps into the seat, his pack dropping by his feet.

“Package delivered,” a man sitting in the front seat says into a comm device after he’s pulled the door shut.  “Copy,” the driver continues after he receives some confirmation.  “Mission status,” he directs back, turning slightly to see him.

“Complete,” he answers, settling into his seat.

“Complete,” the man relays, turning back around and starting the engine.

 

The drive back to base takes a while.  He doesn’t pay much attention, letting his mind wander.  There always seems to be somewhere it wants to go, but he never seems to quite get there.  Still, he tries whenever he has the time.  Today, he thinks of the hotel, specifically the revolving door.  He is certain he’s been through one before, but not just any one.  Something was important about it.  Perhaps he regularly went through it, or it was some kind of special mission.  It was something from a past life, certainly, and he can’t get a grasp on any details.

There are a lot of things he can’t quite get a grasp of, and he’s been assured many times that they are not important.  And they aren’t.  He has his missions, and he completes them.  Whether or not they interconnect, or relate to something before he was doing them, is someone else’s job to figure out.  The research, picking targets, finding them, none of that is what he was trained for.  His purpose is in the field, tying up loose ends.  And no one is better at it than he is.

That’s what they tell him, anyway, and he’s generally content to accept it.  It allows him to have certain freedoms on missions that he might not otherwise, like staying in the hotel last night.  It was certainly a change of pace from the bunkers and the basements where he usually spends his time in between missions; much better than the occasional lab he must sit in for hours at a time with no idea why he’s there or what kinds of tests they are conducting on him.  It is by far the worst part of his job: the needles, the cold metal tables, the distinct feeling of being exposed when they remove his mission gear.  Even the basements are a great improvement.

Finally, they reach the base.  The driver takes them down ramps and past six security checkpoints, at each of which he just motions to indicate who else he’s got in the vehicle.  No one stops them, or asks questions.  Most don’t even speak, no doubt having been warned about what to do when they arrive.  Delaying his debriefing would be an unwise decision, as his handlers are always most anxious to hear the details of his missions.

The van eventually parks and he climbs out, ignoring the driver, who does not move.  It is not the same location he was sent out from, but that’s normal.  They move him often.  He is in a large area made entirely of concrete, with a variety of other vehicles lined neatly against the walls.  There is an elevator directly ahead of him.  Once inside, he presses the button for the bottom floor and waits patiently.  When it stops with a polite ding, he steps out and is unsurprised to find an area more familiar.  Not that he’s been to this exact location before, but the same accoutrements always follow him from place to place.

Obediently, he makes his way over to the metal chair that puts a bad taste in his mouth.  The technicians come out of some back room and start hooking up various sensors to his person and his arm.  They don’t speak to him; he doesn’t debrief them.  He’ll do that after they’ve assessed him thoroughly.  Ignoring the unpleasant feeling in the back of his mind, he sits absolutely still and waits patiently as they conduct tests and discuss readings in whispers.  They never tell him what they are doing, or ask him questions.  If there is any information they need to know, they ask one of his superiors.

When they are done, they direct him toward the debriefing room.  He describes the mission in detail to his handlers, who congratulate him and remind him how effective an agent he is.  Then he is sent back to the technicians before he can ask about the revolving door, though he isn’t sure he was going to.  Soon, he is back in the cryo-tube and gets to rest.

 

Waking up from cryo-sleep is unpleasant.  It feels like being dead.  As he stumbles out of the tube and drops onto the concrete floor, he reflects irrelevantly that this might be worse than how the chair makes him feel.  Might.  Slowly, he regains control of his limbs enough to climb to his feet, and stands at attention.  The technicians have been wandering in and out of the room as he’s been recovering.  When they see he is ready, they motion him over to the chair and he is again hooked up to all the sensors.

Finally, finally, they are finished with their tinkering.  All of the cords attached to him are removed and put away carefully, and one of them fills out a form on his status as an operative.  He knows, from the few questions he’s asked, that they consider him under a great deal more pressure than their other agents.  So they are much more concerned about assessing his well-being regularly, especially to study the effects of his prosthetic.  It seems that he’s the only one who has such a tool, and he knows they sometimes question those he works with on missions about its use in the field.  He doesn’t think they’ve ever asked him.

He takes the file one man offers while the other man points him toward a door to the left.  It’s not the door any of them came in through.  “Second right, Soldier,” one of them calls.  Silently, he walks toward the door and finds a larger hallway on the other side.  There are many doors lining the walls, but he turns right and opens the second one without hesitation.  Inside, as expected, is a small briefing room.  He sits down at the table and stretches out his legs to wait more comfortably.

After an unknown period of time (under half an hour, though, he thinks), the sound of footsteps and voices approaches.  When they get close enough, he can make out the words despite the echoing nature of the hallway.

“ – best we’ve trained.  I don’t know what the problem was, sir.”

“That’s unacceptable, comrade.  It was a disaster.  Such results will not be tolerated.”

“Please,” the footsteps stop as one of the men begs.  “We need this program, it will change the war, sir!”

“Later,” the superior officer says shortly, before appearing in the doorway.  He is wearing a dress uniform and seems to be a general of some sort.  When he sees the Soldier sitting there, watching, a look of surprise passes briefly over his face before he smiles grimly.  Behind him, three other men crowd, all lower ranking.  The worried one is likely a general as well, though with fewer medals. 

“Good morning, Soldier,” the highest-ranking man says to him, moving forward to sit across from him.  The others follow him inside and arrange themselves around the table.

“Sir,” he replies.

“State your mission parameters.”

He glances to the others for some kind of explanation, but none are forthcoming.  “Codename: the Winter Soldier.  Wetworks specialist, covert ops certified,” he begins.

The general waves him off before he can continue.  “So, an assassin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any experience with other ways to serve your country?”

Again, he surveys the others before answering.  “Not to my knowledge, sir.”

The general looks briefly confused before one of the men leans over to whisper in his ear.  Something about memory wipes, he thinks.  The general nods.  “Well, Soldier, what is your duty?”

“To serve my country,” he answers immediately.

“And are you prepared to do that in any way necessary?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.  I think we have a different kind of job for you,” the general says with a grim smile.  “One that might save my comrade here from some headaches down the line.  Report back to your room and await further instructions.”

“Yes, sir,” he answers.  When they look at him expectantly, he gets to his feet and leaves the room, somewhat confused by the exchange.  What could they want him to do?


	4. What We Tried So Hard to Hide Away

She waits in her room, staring out the window.  Her muscles are taught and she does not relax, despite sitting on her bed.  She is listening.  Getting back to her room without anyone noticing was difficult, but not too bad.  The room service man is still unconscious, though she put him in the bath tub so he’d be out of the way.  She hasn’t received any further instructions, and deliberates on how to complete her mission.  It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Of course, she chides herself, she shouldn’t expect things to go exactly as planned when she is in the field.  There are always going to be more variables than she can account for out here.  Still, it is unpleasant to consider that she’s the only one who wasn’t successful today.  She wishes she knew who the other girl in her building was; maybe she could help.  Though she recognized the code-name of one of her compatriots from the hotel registry, she doesn’t know to whom it was assigned.  Or, more importantly, where she is in the building.  She can’t exactly go door-to-door.

Okay, focus, she tells herself.  She can figure this out.  She needs to get in that room, to gather intel, take pictures of any important documents and anything else she can find.  And she can’t do that when there are people present.  Well, not easily.  Chewing on her lip, she moves off of the bed and over to the window.  It pulls open easily and she peers out over the sill.  There is a ribbon of decorative concrete jutting out from the building a yard or so beneath her window.  It follows the curve of the building all the way around, so she could use it.

“This is stupid, Natalia,” she mutters to herself as she swings her leg over and manages to stretch far enough to just touch the ledge with her toes.  Too bad they’re already sore from dancing, she thinks as she shifts her weight more outside than in and swings the rest of the way out.  Holding tightly to the window sill, she breathes slowly and closes her eyes until she feels in control again.  Forcing herself to move carefully, she takes her time approaching the target’s room.  As she gets closer, she notes that the window is dark and perhaps they are asleep.

Hopefully…  She’s not looking forward to clinging to the edge of the building while she waits for the coast to be clear.  Finally, she reaches her goal and resists the urge to sigh in relief as she presses herself against the wall just outside where she might be seen, and listens hard.  No sign of life emanates from the room and she tentatively reaches forward to pull at the pane.   Her relief is palpable as it slides silently upward at her touch.  Pausing every few moments to assess her safety, she gets the window open and drops lightly onto the carpet inside.

Closing her eyes, she considers what she remembers from the brief inspection she had been able to do before.   The room is utterly dark, except for the small patch of light by the window.  She moves out of it quickly, then begins to search.  Her camera will be useless in here, she thinks with some concern.  Pushing the thought away, she methodically makes her way through all the items left in the living room, including the safe.  Her key doesn’t work, of course, but she manages to crack it in the silence after a few tries.

The quiet is broken occasionally by people walking in the hallway, and she is startled every time.  Her endurance feels tested as time seems to stretch interminably.  Finally, she’s gathered all the files from the safe and quite a few from various bags around the room, and must now determine what to do.  Biting her lip, she makes her way to the bathroom and shuts the door silently behind her.  Taking a towel from the shelf, she pushes it under the door before feeling blindly for the light switch.

Blinking rapidly, she eventually can keep her eyes open long enough to see the room.  It looks much like her own and is, thankfully, empty.  Quickly, she lays the files down on the counter and pulls off her necklace, which conceals her camera, for easy access.  It takes a while, but she has a photo of each page.  Keeping her heart rate low is difficult as she occasionally fumbles with the paper or hears sounds outside.  Taking a deep breath, she feels much better when she’s done.

She turns the light out in the bathroom and waits until the darkness doesn’t seem quite so impenetrable before she picks up the towel and puts it back where it came from.  Putting the files back where she found them proves more challenging and she begins to sweat in fear.  This isn’t how it was supposed to go, she chants in her head.  They won’t be pleased, even if she does complete the mission.  Even if she gets out of here unnoticed by some miracle.

Considering her options, she pulls the window all the way shut and decides to go out using the hallway door, even if she might be noticed.  She checks her pockets for her keys one last time, then hears movement in the next room.  Energized, she leaps for the door and yanks it open, ducking outside as quickly as she can.

“Hey!”

A variety of curse words flit through her head, but she manages to keep her mouth shut as she moves toward her room.

“Hey, you, girl!  Stop right there!”

Hesitantly, she comes to a stop and slowly turns around.  It’s the target, not one of his guards.  “I’m so sorry, sir,” she apologizes fervently, her lip trembling in not-entirely-faked distress.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps, eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, I just…  It’s my first night and I keep getting the rooms mixed up,” she says, listening to the lie and pleased to hear it sound convincing.

His expression doesn’t change, but he considers her statement.  “I want to talk to your superior,” he says.

Biting her lip, she looks sick.  “I’m so sorry, sir, please don’t do that.  He won’t be here until the morning,” she adds when he doesn’t let up.

“Fine.  Send him then or it will be worse for you,” he growls, turning around and going back into his room.

“Yes, sir!” she calls.  Once his door is closed, she goes back to her room and shuts the door behind her, locking it several times.  Then she finally lets out the breath she’s been holding.

 

The hotel is luxurious, the bed lovelier than any she’s been on, but she doesn’t sleep.  As soon as dawn breaks, she packs up her things and surveys the room.  Convinced that nothing will point to her, and that the young man will likely wake up by the time the maids arrive, she makes her way outside.  She holds her breath as she moves passed the target’s door, and heads for the elevator.

“- should have called for one of us, sir,” a voice directly away from her meets her ears as well as the sound of the door opening.  She recognizes the voice, and dashes down the hallway toward the stairs.  After a brief pause to ascertain if she is being followed, she takes the stairs two at a time as quickly as she can.  Finally, she reaches the ground floor and pauses to catch her breath.  Then she adjusts her pack and steps out into the lobby with as much poise as she can muster.

Unsurprisingly, the area is mostly empty at this early hour and she walks over to the concierge with a smile.  “Good morning,” she says cheerfully.

“Good morning,” he responds in the same manner.  “What can I do for you?”

“Just need to check myself out,” she replies.

“Very good, miss.”

The elevator is moving, she thinks with a sinking feeling as she tries to hurry through the process.  Finally, it’s done and she pulls a scarf over her hair as she heads toward the door.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” she hears behind her.

“One of your girls was lingering around our room and refused to send her superior to us,” the target’s voice responds.

She slips out the front door and struggles not to let her relief show by laughing hysterically or dropping to her knees.  Allowing a smirk to appear on her face, she makes her way down the street, disappearing into the crowd.

 

When she gets back to the compound, she is surprised to find that others have already reported in.  She is sent to the larger debriefing room and finds six of the others waiting there.  Yelena is one of them and she sits down next to her friend.

“How’d it go?” she asks quietly.

Yelena shakes her head.  “Our intel was faulty.  We got out of there with the information, but they spotted us.”

She bites her lip.  “Same here,” she mutters.  “Do you think it was a test?”

Glancing at the others, Yelena shrugs.  “It wouldn’t surprise me.  I hope the others make it back,” she adds.

“Me too.  Do you think they’ll say we failed the mission?”

The other girls look in their direction, clearly having the same question.  Yelena smiles grimly.  “I wouldn’t put it past them.  Let’s hope they don’t dissolve the program today.”

She frowns and wonders if her eyes are as wide and scared as her peers.  “Maybe they’ll keep us on to dance,” she suggests, garnering some chuckles.

“You and your gallows humor,” Yelena mutters admiringly.

“Well, you know, you have to take what you can get,” she offers, sitting back to wait.


	5. Blinding Light Illuminates the Scene

The next morning, a young man comes to get him.  It’s not according to protocol, and he stares intently at the boy as he considers whether or not he should do as asked.

“Sir?” the boy tries again, looking afraid.  “I’ve been ordered to escort you...”

He nods slowly, and steps into the hallway.  When he returned to the room with the chair and the cryo-tube after the debriefing, there was a bed of sorts in the corner as well as some other necessities.  It was nothing compared to the hotel he’d been in recently (as far as he could recall), but it was probably a pleasant change from what usually happened to him in that room.  He’d gone to bed and had trouble sleeping, perhaps due to the fact that he’d hardly been awake.  No one had spoken to him until this kid knocked on his door.

The young man was perhaps in his mid- to late-teens, with sandy hair and brown eyes.  His build was slight and he would not be a threat to anyone for a few years at least, if ever.  So following him doesn’t seem like much of a risk.  It isn’t as though he knows of anything else to do, and it is probably unreasonable to think that the general who gave the orders would show up in person.

Committing their path to memory, he keeps an even pace as they move through twisting hallways at a slight grade; it is likely they are in a basement and are approaching the ground floor.  It’s possible that they are not underground, and merely approaching higher floors, but he doesn’t think that is the case.  The boy seems nervous and walks quickly, glancing back at him occasionally.  Mainly looking back at his arm.

They reach a staircase and climb three floors before exiting the stairwell.  The area beyond is carpeted and seems much more like the hotel, like where people regularly spend time.  Not people like him.  It feels strange to walk on carpet in his combat boots, though a nice change.  The hallways are less twisting and have regular intersections.  A few signs are on the walls and seem to be in Russian.  He can read them, but they don’t say anything particularly noteworthy.

Finally, the boy comes to a stop outside of two large wooden doors.  He knocks, and they wait.  The door opens after a pause, and a stunningly beautiful woman stands in the open space.  She smiles at him a little distantly; not happy to see him.  Her gaze flickers to the boy and she shoos him away.

“Good morning, Soldier.  I’ve been told to expect you.”  It is unsurprising that she speaks to him in Russian.  She pulls the doors closed behind her and joins him in the hallway.  He nods after a moment when she watches him silently, perhaps wondering if he understood.  “Do you know why you’re here?”

“No.”

Her smile broadens, but is no less chilly.  “I’m told my girls failed their most recent mission.  Someone thinks you can fix them.”

The bitterness in her tone is explained.  “I’ll do what is asked of me,” he replies.

“And what is your area of expertise?”

Her gaze is intense and he licks his lips uncertainly.  Perhaps he shouldn’t have followed the kid here.  “Wetwork.  Covert ops,” he answers shortly.

Furrowing her brow slightly, she nods.  “That is what my girls excel at,” she mutters.  “I don’t seem to have any choice in this, do I?”

He shrugs, watching her.

Something like a laugh escapes her and she shakes her head.  “I’ll speak to one of your superiors, Soldier.  I know you’re not in control of your fate.”  Composing herself, she pushes the door open.  “Why don’t you come get a good look at them and see what you think they need?”

Glancing at her uncertainly, he moves passed her and into the room.  They are standing at the end of a long aisle, with seats on either side.  Some kind of auditorium, he thinks.  At the far end, perhaps fifty yards away, there is a stage on which ten girls are dancing.  Ballet, he thinks irrelevantly.  The woman is behind him and moving forward, so he heads down the slight ramp toward the stage.  Their presence goes unnoticed by the girls; they don’t falter or look in their direction, at any rate.

When they reach the open space in front of the stage, the woman sweeps passed him and barks out a few orders in French.  He isn’t sure if he is unfamiliar with the language or if she is using terms specific to dancing that he wouldn’t know anyway.  The girls being addressed look at the woman, but not at him.  He stands close to the chairs, leaning forward on his toes, and wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

The woman comes back to stand by him, smiling slightly.  “You may call me Madame Pauk,” she tells him graciously.

Spider seems an odd nickname for her; she is not particularly tall or lanky.  He nods shortly, briefly making eye contact as he does so.

“Are we to call you Soldier, then?” she asks with a raised eyebrow after a short pause.

“Yes,” he answers.  No one has called him anything else, as far as he can remember.

She purses her lips, cocking her head at him.  When he doesn’t speak again, she turns her attention to the dancers once more.  “Vera, Natalia, Anna, Oksana, Elena, Irina, Yelena, Lucia, Mariya, and Renata,” she says, pointing to each one in turn.  “Watch carefully,” she murmurs, following her own advice.

Vera is blond, with blue eyes, five seven, one hundred thirty pounds, approximately twenty-one years old.  For a ballerina, her build is large and she more often lifts one of her fellows than is lifted.  Her brow is furrowed in concentration as she dances, and she favors her left leg in an obvious way.  She is not fast, but could overcome any of the others in a fight.  Little or no effect on a larger opponent, however.

Natalia is redheaded with green eyes, five four, one hundred ten pounds, nineteen years old.  She seems to be about average in size, and is clearly dancing the more complicated parts.  Her expression is serene and she makes it look easy.  If she has any physical weaknesses, they are well-hidden.  Her speed is difficult to determine from what he can see, but she appears to be the most adept at the dance.  How she handles combat will be interesting to learn.

Anna is a brunette with brown eyes, five two, ninety pounds, twenty years old.  She is clearly the smallest, and many of her routines seem to include being lifted or working closely with another.  One would expect someone of her size to adopt a cheerful expression for the performance, but she just looks tired.  Her left arm is clearly less adept than her right, and she seems uncomfortable with using it as much as is necessary.

Oksana has black hair and black eyes, five five, one hundred fifteen pounds, twenty years old.  Nothing in her routine sets her apart from the others, though her face is almost as serene as Natalia’s.  Her right foot is bothering her, but without affecting her performance.

Elena has light brown hair and green eyes, five four, one hundred fifteen pounds, twenty-two years old.  Her routine is one of the more complicated, and her expression is that of a performer.  Not as serene as Natalia or Oksana, but more engaging.  It is likely she is the most qualified dancer, and her form hides any discomfort she may be feeling.

Irina is another blond, blue-eyed girl; five two, ninety-five pounds, twenty-one years old.  Like little Anna, she is often lifted by the others.  Her expression shows nothing, neither serenity, discomfort, nor showmanship.  It’s just blank.  It is apparent that her right elbow is sore, though.

Yelena is also blond, but with green eyes; five six, one hundred twenty five pounds, twenty years old.  Her movements are a little slow, but she keeps up with the others.  A determined look is on her face, and her right leg pains her.

Lucia has platinum blond hair and green eyes; five five, one hundred fifteen pounds, twenty-three years old.  She is not as gifted a dancer as Elena, but clearly one of the most experience in the company.  Her expression is similarly what one wears when performing, and she manages to help the others if they make a misstep while still doing her part.  No sign of weakness is on her, either.

Mariya has dark brown hair, with brown eyes; five three, one hundred five pounds, twenty-one years old.  She dances well, her face as blank as Irina’s, and little else can be gleaned from her body language.  He thinks she might have hurt her left hand recently.

Renata has auburn hair and blue eyes, five five, one hundred fifteen pounds, twenty years old.  She often leaps, and gets more distance than her comrades when she does so.  She is not the fastest (perhaps Natalia is), but moves quickly and holds a smile on her face no matter how she lands.  Sometimes she comes down hard, and her left ankle is in pain.

Madame Pauk is watching him, and he glances over at her after he completes his inspection.  “Ready to make my dancers into killers?” she asks lightly.

Some concrete objective at last, he thinks.  “Yes,” he replies.

She claps her hands three times and the dancing stops.  The girls look intently at her, though Natalia and Yelena glance at him curiously before following suit.  “Ladies, excellent as always.  We are done for today.  Report to Training Room B in ten minutes.  Come prepared to work, my dears,” she adds almost ominously.  The girls scatter with surprising speed as she turns in his direction.  “Follow me, Soldier.  I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”


	6. Try to Fill the Spaces In Between

The stranger who comes through the door to watch them dance catches her attention, but she doesn’t show it.  The Madame is leading him and wears a long-suffering expression.  Whoever he is, she is not happy about having him there.  His hair is brown and long enough that he tucks it behind his ears from time to time as he assesses them.  His eyes are blue and he is a little pale, as though he hasn’t seen any sun in a while.  Though there is stubble on his face and his general appearance is somewhat unkempt, his eyes are bright and focused and she can tell he’s reading them at least as thoroughly as their dancing instructors do.

She focuses on her dance, but cannot keep from wondering if he is a new instructor or, if not, why else he would be here.  He doesn’t look like a dancer, and their program is top secret, so it’s unlikely he’s just someone here for observation.  He doesn’t look like anyone official, at any rate.  Madame Pauk speaks to him quietly, and he answers briefly.  Then she claps her hands to signal a break, and gives them ten minutes to get to a training room Natalia doesn’t think they’ve used before.  She goes out of the room with the others to take advantage of their break, resisting the temptation to turn back and see what Madame and the stranger are doing.

After a quick drink and a snack from the backstage area, she makes her way to the assigned location.  Yelena is with her, as usual, though Elena and Anna arrive before them.  Madame Pauk and the stranger are standing in the corner of the padded room, talking quietly.  Well, the Madame is talking.  He doesn’t seem the kind to waste words.  The room itself has mats (red, of course) all over the floor and a few feet up the walls.  There are various pieces of equipment piled in a corner, clearly not intended to be easily accessible.

Anna glances up at Natalia and Yelena as they enter, looking questioning.  Natalia shrugs as she sinks to the floor next to her.  Yelena sits on the other side.  The other girls trail in, usually in pairs, and arrange themselves on the mats near the door to await further instruction.  The Madame looks over at them if they make any noise, so they sit in silence.  Finally, everyone has arrived, and Pauk and the stranger move from their corner toward the center of the room.

“Good morning, ladies.  Because of the results of your most recent mission, my superiors have determined you are in need of a new instructor,” she motions toward the man.  The girls look at him, but his face is devoid of expression.  What he thinks about being here to teach them is impossible to tell.  “Codename: the Winter Soldier, he is a wetworks specialist.  Deadly with a gun, deadlier hand-to-hand, and skilled at short-term cover operations.  He is with us for only a brief time, until he is needed elsewhere, so I’m sure you will all take advantage of his expertise.”

There is a warning in her tone, but the girls are unsure about what they are being warned.  Madame turns to the unnamed Soldier and gives him a nod before moving back against the wall to watch.  He glances at her, then turns to survey them.  His scrutiny is uncomfortable and seems unending as he looks them over.  Then he clears his throat and unfolds his arms.  What looked like a shiny sleeve is shockingly revealed to be his arm – or a metal prosthetic, at any rate.  The girls are too well-trained to react, but Natalia can feel a quiver of surprise run through them all.  She’s never seen such a thing before, but doesn’t expect he’d be too thrilled with her desire to look at it more closely.

“Stand up,” he orders.  His voice is rough, as though it’s not used very often.

The girls rise gracefully to their feet and the nervous energy is palpable.  They look toward Madame and she just smiles grimly in response.

“Pair up,” the Soldier says as he moves toward them and spreads them out.  The girls shrink away from his metal appendage, but he merely uses shooing motions to get the group to take up most of the room.  Then he returns to the center and looks at them critically.  “Face your opponent.  Get ready to spar.”

Natalia stands before Yelena, who is wearing a bemused expression.  They have had training that involved sparring before, but she has a feeling it’s about to get much more intense.  It was mostly self-defense before.  They are supposed to be spies, not soldiers, and violence should only be necessary when things are not going according to plan.  And the plan should be flexible enough that violence is generally rendered unnecessary.  Whatever covert ops the Soldier has been on, Natalia doubts it was the kind where violence was unnecessary.  Everything about him is taut muscles, sharp eyes, and fast reflexes.  When they send him out, she suspects it is to cause mayhem like no one else could.

“Attack,” he orders.

She pushes her assessment away and launches herself at her friend.  They’ve fought before, and mostly match each other’s blows.  Their movements are fast, always the most important skill for girls their size, and it takes all of her concentration to keep Yelena’s blows from landing.  Yelena is similarly focused, of course, though Natalia manages to get over her block a few times.  Through her peripheral vision, she is vaguely aware that the Soldier is walking slowly from group to group, watching.  He doesn’t seem to speak to anyone or otherwise interfere.

“Stop,” his voice breaks through the noise.

Natalia steps back out of arms’ reach and concentrates on catching her breath.  As she gets herself under control, she copies her comrades and turns to face the Soldier, who stands once again in the center of the room.

“Sit back over there.  Except Anna,” he adds as they begin to move.

Anna’s face briefly flashes with terror before she stops and turns to face him.  The others are surprised by this and are further surprised to find that Madame Pauk has left. The room is thick with suspense as they watch the Soldier square off with the smallest of their comrades.  She looks resolute, but they can tell she is afraid.

“Attack me,” he tells her.

“Using what method?” she asks, keeping her voice steady.

Natalia may be mistaken, but she could swear she sees the ghost of a smile cross his face.

“Dealer’s choice,” he answers.  He stands at ease, not in a defensive stance.

Anna prepares, then takes a running start before jumping at him.  In a move almost too fast for the eye to follow, he catches her and swings her around and passed him, using only his real arm.  Natalia shudders to think what damage the other could do as Anna crumples to the floor, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath her.  She hisses in pain as she climbs to her feet, while the Soldier seems entirely unaffected.

“Join the others.  Elena.”

Natalia watches in silence as Elena, Renata, and Vera are similarly dealt with.  None of them manage to land a blow, and they pull themselves gasping back to the group while he remains virtually untouched.  Then it’s her turn.  She took to dancing faster than the others, ascending the ranks quickly even as a child.  But she hasn’t done anything like this before and she can’t quell her nervousness.  He stands absolutely still and waits for her to make her move, which of course gives him an advantage.

Biting her lip, she walks slowly around the mat until she is behind him, then stops.  He doesn’t turn to face her, and she supposes the others were foolish to attack him head on.  He is larger, stronger, and possibly faster than any of them, so they will have to take any advantage they can.  She lowers herself into a crouch, then jumps at him.  Caught by surprise, she manages to knock him a little off balance before being flung to the floor.

“Good,” he says quietly to her as he straightens.

She climbs to her feet, pleased with his praise and to have been injured far less than her fellows.  As the other girls are called forth, she pays little attention except to indulge in a sense of pride when no one else can achieve the same effect that she did.  When all the girls have tried their hands against him, he orders them back into partners and they spar uninterrupted for a few hours.  They change partners at his command frequently, so at least it does not become repetitive.  By the end, Natalia is sore and aching and wants nothing more than to go to bed.  She can tell that her comrades feel the same way.

“Dismissed,” he says at last, abruptly.

They stop mid-spar and begin streaming out the room.  The relief in them is tangible, and several glance back apprehensively toward the Soldier.  Natalia is surprised at their apparent fear; they have had crueler instructors before.  But perhaps it is his silence and unpredictability that bothers them.  Resolutely, she turns from the exit and walks back over to where he is standing.  He watches her approach, expressionless.

“Excuse me, sir.  I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice for next time.”  She doesn’t use the voice she often does when talking to men; she doesn’t think it would affect him and he seems like he’d prefer to get right to the point.

The question seems to startle him, and an odd look flashes in his blue eyes; they seem much less steely than they did during the training.  “Were you?” he asks, sounding surprised and perhaps a little confused.

“Yes,” she says, uncertainly.

He nods, then, decisively.  “You hide your weaknesses well while you’re dancing, but favor your right leg when you’re fighting.  Your speed is your greatest asset, and you will have to learn to use the strength of your opponent against him.  Treat it like a dance, and your opponent is your partner,” he suggests.

She smiles, amused by the idea.  “Is that what you do?”

His expression seems frozen for a moment before a smile cracks through.  “No, I don’t think I’ve fought anyone who presented enough of a challenge,” he explains.

“Well, maybe you will soon,” she suggests with a wink, unreasonably pleased to have elicited a smile from him.  She is further delighted when he laughs.

“I hope so, Natalia,” he says sincerely.

Hiding a grin, she takes her leave of him and considers that this might prove a rewarding change of pace.


	7. Arms Entwined In a Final Pose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This jumps forward a bit, skipping over the description of their first kiss, which was fleshed out in chapter 6 of Part IV "I Would For You." If you're interested :)

This isn’t what he was made for, what he’s supposed to do.  He isn’t supposed to care about anyone, to enjoy himself.  He’s supposed to work, to follow orders.  But this strange mission is messing with his head and he can’t seem to focus on it.  Train the girls, they told him.  Make them as good as he is.  And he’s doing his best, but it is definitely outside of his usual parameters.

So when Natalia kisses him at the end of a session, he doesn’t know how to react.  Some part of him considers that such aberrations should be reported, but he definitely doesn’t want to do that.  It will undoubtedly get her in trouble, which would upset him.  And it is likely they will put him back in cryo and who knows when he’ll get out?  He’ll never see her again.  So, no, he certainly won’t be telling anyone.

What then?  He can’t recall any displays of affection directed toward him, and especially not something so… personal.  Fortunately, she gets back in a defensive stance and they continue the session, thus preventing him from having to be decisive when it happens.  She smiles at him when she leaves and he can’t resist smiling back.  He’s been doing that frequently lately, which is also strange.

When she’s gone, it’s his break and he should go eat.  But he doesn’t.  He just sits down to think.  It is likely, he supposes, that his programming is breaking and needs to be addressed.  He will no longer be an effective asset if it is allowed to continue.  And he needs to be an effective asset.  Doesn’t he?

 

Natalia trains with him almost daily.  The only times she misses are when she is on a mission.  Most of the other girls only train with him once or twice a week, though someone deemed Renata and Yelena as benefiting the most from his training.  So he sees the three of them (Natalia included) every day.  The days are long and he is exhausted by the end of them.  The group sessions once a week are particularly brutal – for everyone, he supposes.  He doesn’t have any days off, which is fine.  What would he do with one?

He also doesn’t go on missions anymore, which he would prefer.  Training is difficult, coming up with what to have them do is a challenge.  Particularly since he has complete memories of only a handful of his assignments.  Such knowledge would likely prove useful in helping them.  He supposes he could ask for more details, but suspects his memories were removed for a reason.  And replacing them would not be worth it for mere academic knowledge.

The day after Natalia kissed him, she doesn’t come to train.  The schedule isn’t something he usually pays much attention to; he just stays in the training room all day and takes breaks when the girls leave.  So he isn’t sure if it is a result of what happened, or if she merely wouldn’t come today anyway.  It fills him with agitation, and he is more than usually harsh with Yelena’s training.  She’s a strong one, though, and doesn’t seem affected.

“Faster, or you’re leaving your right side unprotected,” he growls as he slips his knife through her block.

She jumps back to avoid it, not that he would have made contact, and nods.  Her brow is furrowed in concentration; she doesn’t make this look easy like most of the others do.  But she is one of the best nonetheless.

“Better,” he says a little shortly when she keeps from making the same mistake again.

“Thank you,” she mutters.

She is armed with a knife as well, but he isn’t particularly worried about it.  Her offense is lacking, as most of the girls’ are.  They are not being trained to be exactly like him, so defense is more important.  The jobs they are sent on will only require offense if they’ve screwed up somehow.  Still, he thinks it is an important skill and is a little frustrated by their lack of proficiency in more than defending themselves.  It wasn’t a skill they were adept at before, but have improved rapidly since he came here.

Another reason he isn’t concerned about her knife is simply because of his own training.  He’s been stabbed before.  It’ll heal.  He must evade enough to keep it from affecting his ability to complete a mission, but wounds are otherwise irrelevant.  And since his left arm is not vulnerable (to anything, really), that is pretty easy to do.  She aims just at his right side, realizing that getting through the metallic prosthetic is almost impossible.  Natalia is the only one who makes any attempts in that regard, and also the only one who doesn’t seem terrified by it.

Yelena hisses as he reaches through her guard and catches her skin.  It’s a superficial cut, hardly noticeable, but it begins to bleed.  He sighs and stops.  “Better get that cleaned,” he tells her gruffly.

“Yes, sir,” she says.  There is a first aid kit in the room, and he waits while she goes to get it off the wall.  While she cleans and bandages the scrape, he considers that his training sessions did not involve breaks for addressing wounds.  Most ended with him bruised and bloody, he thinks.  It’s hazy, though.  Of course, he reminds himself that he is training beautiful ladies, whose physical appearance matters much more than his does.  It’s one of their assets, and highly prized by their superiors.

“Ready?” he asks when she gets to her feet.

“Yes, sir,” she answers, though she winces a little when she gets into her defensive stance.  He wonders if the cut was deeper than he thought.  He isn’t paying enough attention to the task at hand, he supposes, and decides he’d better change that.

 

When Yelena leaves, he waits, but no one else comes.  The day’s work has ended and he can rest.  The thought usually pleases him, but not today.  Why didn’t Natalia come?  Is she okay?  Is she in trouble?  When she’s on missions, he worries sometimes.  He knows her training is not complete, and is not comfortable with her going out into the field before she’s ready.  Of course, he supposes he’d prefer her not to go into the field at all.  It’s dangerous out there and he worries.

With a sigh, he heads toward what he supposes are his quarters.  He doesn’t think he’s had quarters before; just a room where the technological apparatuses he requires are kept.  And where he is kept, too, he thinks.  Now, he has access to a real bed and a bathroom, which is pleasant.  He showers and changes into clean clothes.  All his training gear is the same, but not like his mission gear.  It is lightweight and a little looser than what he usually wears.  It’s a nice change, he’s decided.

Dinner is in the mess hall.  There are always other people in there, people he doesn’t know from his program or from the Widows’.  He doesn’t like that, and always wears gloves to hide his arm.  Perhaps someone ordered him to do that, but it might just be habit.  Whether or not the people know who he is, what he is, he doesn’t know.  It’s best to avoid passing on that knowledge, in any case.

He goes through the line and picks up whatever they’re serving.  Food is fuel; he hasn’t thought about it as more than that for a long time.  If ever.  That’s probably for the best, since he doesn’t think this food is particularly appetizing.  It is, however, high in protein, and that’s important.  After he gets himself a glass of water, he sits down in the corner of the room as far from the other people as he can.  Then he eats.

When he is about halfway through is meal, he is surprised by another tray dropping across from his.  He looks up and is both relieved and startled to see Natalia standing there.  She smiles.

“Want some company?” she asks, sitting down before he can answer.

“Alright,” he says hesitantly.

“Yelena says you cut her pretty bad today.”  Her tone is light and she doesn’t seem upset by the statement.

He isn’t sure whether to be apologetic or not.  “She needs to work on her guard,” he replies.  Facts are always a good response.

She laughs.  “Yes, she does.  Maybe this will convince her.”

“Maybe,” he says when she falls silent.

After a pause, he continues to eat, watching her do so as well.  She seems to enjoy the food, and he wonders if she’s been trained to view it as fuel or is more concerned about taste.  She is quite enigmatic, he thinks.  Which makes sense, for a spy.  The other girls are less so.  He considers what she’ll be like when she’s done training, and if he’ll still be around to see it.


	8. Narrative Drawing to a Close

It isn’t the best idea, sitting down to eat with the Winter Soldier after she gets back from her mission.  For one thing, everyone around keeps away from him unless absolutely necessary.  For another, she has been made aware that he is a carefully maintained weapon, and such fraternization might negatively affect that construct.  Thirdly, she is being crafted into a perfect spy, and she knows a good spy didn’t develop strong feelings for colleagues.  Or instructors.  Finally, and perhaps most importantly, she can see the way he looks at her when he thinks no one will notice, and it is definitely not in his mission parameters.

The startled look he gives her when she sits down confirms her suspicions, and she wonders what possessed her to act so rashly.  She may be the star pupil, the most likely candidate to be the Black Widow, but that doesn’t mean she’s untouchable.  The remaining Widows are friendly with each other, and unlikely to rat each other out, but they’re not the only people here.  She’ll have to be more careful, she thinks as she eats in silence.  He pauses a moment, watching her, assessing her, before continuing his meal.

When he’s finished eating, he seems momentarily lost, though he tries not to show it.  She wonders how often weapons are allowed regular food, and what he was like before he became the Soviet bogeyman.  “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” she says lightly, releasing him from his indecision.  If he is relieved, he doesn’t show it. 

“I’m sure you will,” he answers abruptly, getting to his feet.  It is apparent he is more comfortable walking away than he was sitting there with her, but she doesn’t let it bother her.  It’s not as though she is particularly comfortable with companionship, either.  Yelena is the only person she would consider a friend, but they aren’t close.  Just on better terms than she seems to be with anyone else.  Except perhaps the nameless Soldier, she thinks as she finishes her meal.  She isn’t sure what that could come to mean, but she has always thought that making allies was a good use of her time.

 

The next day follows the same routine her days always take when she’s not in the field.  Breakfast is early, followed by lessons.  Ballet is first, followed by what she likes to call Charm School.  She doesn’t know what the others call it, but Madame Pauk instructs the girls on how to manipulate others with a smile.  Or a demure smirk, really.  The Madame is the best; she’s seen her use that face many times to accomplish her own ends, sometimes against shocking odds.  She hopes to be as skilled before long.

After a break, she trains with the Soldier all afternoon.  Yelena works with him in the mornings, Renata in the evenings, and everyone else around once a week.  On those days, there are no individual lessons.  He mainly teaches them hand-to-hand combat skills and target practice, with the occasional lesson on maintaining cover in the field.  It is obvious that he is most comfortable doing physical training with them, and doesn’t seem to much enjoy anything requiring him to speak for very long.  When she finishes his lessons, she breaks again for supper, than studies important skills like cryptography until she falls into bed.  The days are hard, but she enjoys the work.

When she is in the field, there is a significant amount of downtime.  She finds she quite enjoys that part, the waiting around without anything important to do, just amusing herself.  Mostly, she reads.  The books she usually gets from the Red Room, and are instructional in nature, but sometimes she is somewhere she can test out other kinds of books.  It is likely they aren’t approved by her handlers, but it’s harmless.  It’s not as though any words on a page would convince her to lose focus.

 

The Soldier doesn’t make any reference to her kiss, or act any differently, as far as she can tell, the next time they train together.  She had hoped he would do something, but must admit she is a little relieved to keep things the same.  It takes very little effort on her part to keep her own behavior as he would expect, telling stories from the field to him while they get ready, and smirking at him when they start.  She’s fast and getting better than him.  Well, no, perhaps not better at what he does, but she can bring him down from time to time.  Their fights are no longer so one-sided.

Something is different, though, she thinks as he grabs the knife out of her right hand using his left, and flings it away without looking.  It buries itself deeply in the wall, and she’s sure she won’t be able to get it out again.  Ducking quickly, she manages to avoid his fist and twists under his guard to snatch one of his other knives off of his belt.  She slides on the mats covering the floor out of his reach before he can stop her, and takes off running for the farthest corner of the room to catch her breath and get her bearings.

When she turns around to face him, prepared for his attack, he hasn’t moved, and is just watching her from several yards away.  She remains in her defensive stance, breathing as slowly as she can, and waits.  The moment stretches on endlessly, with the only sound being her somewhat ragged breathing.  Then he walks toward her; he is unhurried, gait even, and doesn’t seem at all wary of an attack.  Her eyes narrow in confusion when he gets close without making any attempt to engage with her.

Then he does, but not in the way she expected.  His left hand takes hold of her wrist lightly, the one holding the knife, while his other hand reaches up to lift her chin.  Then he kisses her lightly on the lips before letting go and stepping back.  And smiles at her.  If she’s seen him smile before, she doesn’t remember it.  It changes his whole face and she feels breathless from more than just the exercise.

“That was really good,” he tells her, still smiling.

It takes a moment for the words to register, then she smiles broadly back.  “Well, you know, I’ve been learning from the best.”

“Again?” he asks, and she realizes he’s gotten his knife back while she was distracted and is tucking it into its sheath.

A smirk passes over her lips as she considers that he probably didn’t learn that kind of thing from someone like Madame Pauk when he was being trained.  Which makes her wonder again what he was like before.  “Yes, sir,” she replies, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He follows her gaze to where the knife rests, then meets her eye and grins.  “Try to be a little more focused this time,” he tells her, cheekily.

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it, and she shakes her head slowly.   “I’ll do my best, sir,” she promises before composing herself.  He does the same, and they get back to work.

 

When she leaves the training room at the end of the session, she thinks she might giggle to herself all through dinner.  And maybe through cryptography.  But then she sees Madame Pauk waiting for her at the end of the hall, and that is immediately sobering.

“Madame,” she says politely as she attempts to walk by.

“Natalia, come along.  We have a job for you,” the woman replies calmly, turning and expecting to be followed.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies quietly, and does as is expected.  They make their way through the circuitous corridors that compose the basement before getting in the elevator and riding up to the third floor.  Pauk leads the way to a briefing room which is familiar to Natalia, though she has only been inside of it once before.  Despite the name, the time she spends in these places is never brief.

Inside, there are men in military dress uniforms waiting.  She keeps the surprise from showing on her face, but isn’t sure what expression is appropriate for the situation.  Madame Pauk is smiling confidently, but she doesn’t think she should mimic that.  Not until she knows the situation, anyway.

“Gentlemen, this is the young lady.  I’m sure you will think her perfect for the role.  Her field tests have been excellent, and she is the best we have trained here,” Pauk purrs.

The oldest man, a general, looks skeptical, but the others all seem relieved to see her.  “Are you sure?  After the last assignment, I’m afraid I do not share your confidence, Katerina,” he says doubtfully.

Natalia is somewhat thrown to realize the name he used must be Madame’s.  “She is very capable, Lexi,” the woman replies, her tone chilly.  “She trains daily with your pet, and is one of only three to do so.  He seems to be impressed with her, so I don’t see why you wouldn’t be,” she sniffs delicately.

The description of the Soldier as a pet is jarring, but the thought of having impressed him is delightful.  With some effort, Natalie does not dwell on either.

The general’s expression doesn’t change, but he nods.  “We will see what she can do.  Girl, how long have you been undercover before?”

She glances briefly at Madame Pauk, who looks encouraging, before focusing her gaze on the man.  “A few days, sir,” she replies.

“Well, this mission is going to require a bit longer than that.  Do you think you can become good friends with your mark, get all the information you can about her father to us, and then kill her if need be?”

She swallows; it will be the biggest mission she’s been on.  She should be honored, but something stirs in her stomach that upsets her.  Ignoring it, she nods.  “Of course, sir,” she says vehemently.

A grim smile passes over his face.  “Good.”


	9. Still Remain the Things We Couldn't Kill

Why did he kiss her?  He doesn’t know.  She just looked so pretty and dangerous and was so very clever.  No one else had managed to take one of his weapons from him, at least not when they were put away.  They had been knocked from his hands on rare occasion, but never this.  He’d been impressed, as he always seemed to be by Natalia.  He doesn’t know what to do with these strange impulses.  His training has not covered them in any way, and he suspects they will insist on wiping him if he reports them.  Which he doesn’t want.

Of course, the fact that he’s considering going against his orders is likely indicative of his need to be wiped.  He rationalizes that he won’t be on this mission forever, and it will probably end soon.  If he isn’t sent on any other kinds of missions, and continues to be successful at this one, does it really matter if he isn’t functioning perfectly?  When this is over, he will be put into cryo, and then all this will be gone.  The idea upsets him, but it’s just how things are.

He will have to take care not to let his fondness for her become obvious to either his superiors or the other trainees.  The natural preference he shows can only be attributed to her skill, and not any personal feelings on his part.  He doesn’t think it will be difficult to hide, so long as she refrains from doing anything rash.  They are both skilled at covert ops, after all, so should be adept enough at keeping their … friendship a secret from those who would separate them.  He hopes.  And if it means hearing her laugh again, he is willing to take the risk.

 

After she leaves, he trains Renata.  She does well, but not as well as Natalia.  When that session is over, he goes to his quarters and lies on his bed, thinking.  Some of his memories are returning from before the last wipe, though they are jumbled and confusing.   They hurt to think about and he supposes this must be why they are taken away frequently.  He wonders if they will take away his memories of Natalia soon, and doesn’t like that idea.  It’s so different, working with her, from any other part of his life.  He feels almost like – almost like a regular agent.  And it’s very important to him to continue feeling that way; he doesn’t want to go back.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, but the time he spends with the whole group is growing shorter and shorter.  The lessons with the three are long still, and the girls are continuing to improve, but he can see that his usefulness is dwindling.  Soon, he will have to go back.  Back to cold and killing and silence.  Back to never being alone but never being spoken to by those who surround him.  Away from having authority and company and freedom.  The realization is unbearable, and he wonders if being wiped will take away that knowledge.  He forces the thought away and tries to sleep.

 

Days pass, but he doesn’t see Natalia again.  His afternoons are not left empty, of course, and the other girls cycle through in short lessons between Yelena and Renata.  As Natalia misses more and more lessons, he wonders if it would be inappropriate for him to ask about her.  None of the other girls act as though she is being punished in some way, behaving much the same as they were before.  So she is likely just out on a mission.  And eventually she’ll come back and then maybe he can kiss her again.  Time feels like it’s slipping by and he is restless with the idea that he has so little left before he will have to leave this place.  And days are wasted if he doesn’t see Natalia.

Finally, he hears some news.  After Elena is injured during her session, Anna helps her limp down to the infirmary.  Anna was scheduled next, which was why she was nearby, so he settles down to wait and see if she will return.  He considers if the girl’s injury was a result of his restlessness, in which case he should report his concern to someone, or if it was merely due to her lack of skill, in which case he should develop a better plan to assist her.

While he is mulling this over, he is surprised to hear the distinctive clacking of high heels in the hallway outside of the training room.  He gets to his feet and is not surprised to find the woman, Pauk, approaching.  No one else wears expensive shoes here.  She smiles at him in that way that always sets him on edge.

“Soldier,” she says by way of greeting.

“Ma’am,” he replies evenly.

“I see you are not occupied at the moment,” she continues, a question in her tone.

“Elena twisted her ankle and Anna took her to be looked at.  I am awaiting Anna’s return,” he explains.

She surveys the room curiously and he wonders if she’s been trained in anything besides mental manipulation.  “It is good that I won’t have to interrupt your work, then,” she murmurs demurely.  Her attempts to manipulate him are not effective and very noticeable, he thinks, but he isn’t sure what her objective is in trying.  “Come with me, please.”  Her tone is authoritative now, and the smile gone.  He hopes that means she was unsuccessful and has given up.

He falls into step behind her silently, and she leads him out of the basement and upstairs.  The room they eventually reach and enter is the one in which he met with the general before being given this assignment.  After recognizing the location, he considers with something like despair if that means it is done and time for him to do something else.  Why else would he be briefed again?  With difficulty, he drags his thoughts away from the precipice and focuses on summarizing his work here.

The general and his assistants are already waiting in the room, and the woman turns her charm back on when they reach the door.  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she says throatily.  She gestures at him eloquently, and he steps into the room.  “Would you like me to stay while you work with him?”

Everyone looks at him appraisingly for a moment, before a few return their attention to her.  “Yes.  You may have some further insight of benefit,” the general says after a moment of thought.

“Thank you, sir,” she murmurs, leaning comfortably against the wall.

“Soldier, are you being an effective tool of the State?” the general asks him.

“Yes, sir,” he replies flatly.

“Despite your lack of experience with this kind of assignment, your work has benefited your pupils and many will be much more successful in the field because of you.  We appreciate your willingness to apply your ample skills to any issue put before you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he responds hesitantly when the general pauses.

“It is clear you are doing good here, but we have something of an emergency that you are the best qualified to resolve with minimal damage to any party involved. “

“Yes, sir.”

The general smiles.  “One of your pupils was sent on a dangerous undercover mission.  She has not reported in to her handlers and we have reason to fear the worst.  You will go find her and attempt to bring her back.”

His chest hurts at the words – they can only mean Natalia – but he maintains his composure.  “Where is she?”

At a look from her superior, the woman leans forward to attract everyone’s attention.  “Her mission was to get close to the daughter of one of our enemies.  She went to university and posed as a student of the same age, and the two were becoming friends.  The two of them spent the holiday with the girl’s parents, where Natalia was to kill the girl and deliver our message to the father.  We know that Natalia was there, ready to complete her mission.  But no one has gone to or left that house in days, and we expected her back two days ago.”

He is surprised by how concerned the woman is, and he wonders if it is just for show.

“Thank you, Katerina.  Soldier, you will go to that house and find Natalia.  If she has been taken captive, you will destroy Drakov’s house and everyone in it.  If she has betrayed us, you will kill her as well.  The time table is forty-eight hours.  Regardless of your progress, you will report in after that time.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, silently thrilled.

“Good.  Katerina will escort you,” he adds, waving them away.

He follows the woman as she walks down a few corridors.  They do not return to the elevator, but instead he finds himself stepping into some kind of dressing room.  It is richly decorated, and he looks around in surprise.

“Your mission gear is here,” she says, pointing to a duffel in the corner.  “The front doors are directly down the hall to the right.  Your transportation is waiting outside whenever you are ready.”  He nods, and moves toward the supplies.  “Soldier,” she arrests him with her tone, and he turns to look at her.  “Bring her back to us safely,” she entreats.

“I will,” he promises.

She nods shortly, then leaves, the sound of her shoes echoing for several moments after her departure.  He takes a deep breath and begins to get ready.  The stakes are very high on this mission, and he must be successful.


	10. In Your Eyes, I Can See It Still

Anita Drakova is a pleasant child, very sweet.  Natalia reminds herself that they are the same age, but she feels so much older.  It is easy to be nice to her, to earn her trust.  They attend classes together, and Natalia can’t help but enjoy the learning, even if she will only be here a few weeks.  There are two body guards in each of Anita’s classes; not always the same two.  Six total, she counts.  They are young, like her, and blend in well with their peers.  Most of their peers lack their focus, however, so they are not difficult to spot.  Of course, it takes one to know one, and she will have to be careful not to reveal herself.

She makes up stories of her childhood, of her life before coming here, and Anita laughs and is delighted to talk to her.  The girl is not used to being an authority on anything, so Natalia asks her a lot of questions about their studies, which Anita loves.  There are other girls around, but she slips into their social group easily and soon spends time with Anita on her own.  It is an easy assignment so far, and she waits patiently to be invited home with her new friend.

It takes a little longer than expected, but finally Anita goes home for a week and she manages to be taken along.  The house is huge, and richer even than the fancy hotel she was in a few months ago.  She struggles not to seem in awe of the whole place.  Anita’s parents are kind and welcoming, and the reality of what she was sent to do starts to settle uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.  But she is a Black Widow, one of the best spies in the world, and she will not let silly qualms affect her performance.

Still, she delays.  She makes up excuses and doesn’t act when the window is perfect.  The stress builds and she begins to doubt herself.  Perhaps she should just escape, say things went south, say her cover was made, and go back to the Red Room.  Back to safety.  But to admit she failed would be painful.  What would she do then?  She’d no longer be the best, and would have to accept that.  Accept being expelled from the program, and then what?

That isn’t an option.  So she forces herself to try.  There are more bodyguards here then she can really count, but she is sure of a dozen.  They come and go frequently in the short time period, as though making sure she doesn’t get a good tally.  She will have to kill Anita, preferably with her father looking on, and deliver the message.  It sounded so simple during the briefing, but now she is realizing how complicated these kinds of things are going to be.  No wonder the Soldier has been training them so hard.

On the sixth evening of her visit, after struggling with indecision the whole night before and most of the day, she decides she can’t put it off another night.  She will have to act.  The family is at dinner, to which she was invited, unlike the guards and servants of the house.  They dine in a pleasant little room, which fortunately has locking doors and is near the edge of the house.  During summer, its balcony doors are opened and they likely eat on the terrace, but now it is closed up tightly.  She makes sure she is the last to enter the room, and discretely locks it behind her.  It’s not a perfect plan, but should work.  After she does what she was sent here to do, she can escape via the outside doors before getting caught.  If she’s quiet, she might be off the grounds before her actions are noticed.

“Well, Nadine, I must say it’s been very pleasant to have you here,” Anita’s mother says, smiling at her.  The father – the traitor – nods, smiling as well.

“Anita has greatly enjoyed your company.  I hope you will always feel welcome in our house,” Drakov tells her.

She forces a delighted smile onto her face and ignores the nausea that is building in her throat.  “Thank you, sir,” she says sincerely.

“Our little Anita has always wanted a sister, and she tells us you have no family,” the wife of the traitor continues.

Natalia glances a little sharply at Anita, who is blushing and staring at her plate.  “That’s true,” she admits, watching her mark carefully.

“Well, I know you’re a little old for adoption, but we think you would make a great addition to our family, if you’d be interested.  I know what it’s like to feel alone,” the woman says sympathetically.

Something inside her breaks and all she can do is nod and try to get her eyes to focus.  Is she alone?  She has the other Widows, but nothing like this.  She could be a normal student, a normal girl, if she stayed here.  If you stayed here, some part of her brain repeats incredulously.  With these people who have betrayed your country?  Just throw away everything you’ve worked for?  Natalia Romanova is no weakling – she is the best there is.  Think of how disappointed everyone would be – how disappointed the Soldier would be.

She is aware of someone asking if she is alright, but she does not listen to the words.  Instead, she uses the knife on the table next to her to finish her mission as quickly as possible.

 

It’s not until a while later that she comes back into herself, and sees what she’s done.  They’re all dead, and not neatly.  Not quickly.  She feels ill, but is grateful to not remember exactly what happened over dinner.  The job’s done, maybe not according to plan, but there’s certainly no reason to linger here.  Someone will come looking for the owners of the house eventually, and it’s not as though she can explain away her presence here.  Not in her state of mind, anyway.

Trembling, she gets to her feet and unlatches the balcony doors.  They’re securely fastened and it takes her a few tries before she can get through.  The delay makes her breath grow rapid and uncomfortable, and her fingers shake as she tries again.  Finally, it opens and she slips outside.  The evening is cold and she laments her lack of foresight in bringing a jacket, but the chill manages to clear her head a little.  Carefully, she swings one leg over the railing, then the other.  The ground is still ten feet away, but there is no other option than to jump.  She rolls, lessening the impact, but her leg and arm sting when she climbs clumsily to her feet.

Pressing herself against the building, she makes her way slowly through the purple twilight toward the front gates.  She will have to leave the relative cover of the house itself to cross the front lawn, but she will deal with that when she has to.  Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  This isn’t her first mission, far from it, but she hasn’t had to get this close to a mark before.  It’s unsettling, and perhaps she spent too long outside of the familiar.  She was starting to go native, maybe.  It’s something she will have to be careful to avoid on her next undercover mission.

Finally, there is no choice but to cross the open space to the gate.  She could follow the road, claim to have some excuse to leave, but the idea is repellant.  So she lets out some pent-up energy by running the distance.  After looking and listening hard for any witnesses, of course.  There isn’t a sound as she reaches her goal, and she pauses to catch her breath before slipping through the space.  Immeasurable relief fills her as she begins to walk down the street; safe at last.

Suddenly, arms wrap around her from behind, one around her waist and one covers her mouth.  Her training kicks in and she immediately strikes back, though it has little effect besides making her captor grunt when she makes contact.  Then his grip becomes vice-like, pinning her arms to her sides, and he pulls her back behind a stand of trees.

“It’s me,” he hisses in her ear and she goes still.  What is the Soldier doing here?  Did they think she would fail and need rescuing?  Before she can respond, despite her mouth being covered, a car turns into the driveway and crosses over the space she was just occupying.  She would certainly have been seen, so she supposes she owes him her life.  When the vehicle has passed and the gate has closed behind it, he releases her and steps out of arms-reach.

“Thank you,” she whispers, a little hoarsely, surprised by the need to regain her balance.

He is dressed in civilian clothes, watching her carefully.  It’s strange to see him out in the world.  His arm is hidden and he could be anyone, she thinks irrelevantly.  “You okay?” he asks, anxiously.

The phrasing is strange and she isn’t sure what he’s really asking.  “Fine,” she replies tentatively.

He nods slowly, then looks up and down the road.  “Do you… Is the mission complete?”

“It is.”

He nods again, a perplexed look on his face.  “Good.  Let’s get out of here, then.”

“Good idea,” she murmurs, and falls into step behind him when he starts up the hill to the left of the house.  She feels utterly spent and struggles to keep up, but doesn’t say anything.  At some point, he must notice her falling behind, because he slows down.  Then stops.  When she reaches him, he walks beside her.  She hopes he’s not staring at her again.  She doesn’t want to let him, or anyone, down.  Perhaps that’s why she was so thrown by this mission.

After a few hundred yards, they reach a car hidden behind some trees.  It is a densely wooded area, and there is no path up to its location.  She wonders vaguely how he got it there.  Then she climbs in the passenger seat while he gets in the driver’s and starts the engine.  When they don’t immediately start moving, she looks up and is startled by the intensity of his gaze.

He cocks his head at her when their eyes meet, and he clears his throat.  “I don’t think I should take you back in this state,” he says.  His tone is firm, but lifts ever so slightly in question at the end.

A shiver runs through her as she contemplates the connotations of that statement.  “I’ll be fine,” she insists coldly.

The ghost of a smile crosses his lips as he reaches over with his right hand to cup her cheek.  “I didn’t mean I was going to kill you and leave you in a ditch.  I meant we should find a place to lay low tonight, and maybe tomorrow you’ll feel up to a debriefing,” he explains gently.

A different kind of shiver runs through her at that, and she gives him a real smile.  “Thank you,” she says sincerely.

He leans forward to brush a kiss across her lips before turning his focus to driving.  She settles back into her seat and contemplates the novel emotions circling through her.


	11. How We Choose the Framing of the Scene

She doesn’t say anything while he drives.  She doesn’t ask where they are going or offer suggestions or tell him what happened.  Or stories, like she usually would, to fill up dead space.  He is unaccustomed to her silence and it makes him worry.  It’s not like her.  He tries to remember his first mission, or any other that strongly affected him, but cannot.  They wouldn’t let him keep such a volatile memory, he supposes.  It would hurt his proficiency.  Should he wish for those back, or is it better not to know?

When they’ve reached the next town over, he finds a hotel.  It’s nothing fancy, but it’s what he can afford with the money they provided before he left.  Though he isn’t sure what the average rate for a night is these days, so maybe they could upgrade.  She doesn’t comment on his choice, just sits in silence while he parks the car and turns off the engine, her gaze directly ahead.  Tentatively, he reaches over to touch her arm lightly, and she turns to look at him.

“We should go inside,” he says quietly, feeling tongue-tied by her gaze.

She nods numbly, then climbs out of the vehicle.  He follows, and they enter the lobby together.  Both of them look like regular civilians, neither wearing clothes that are tattered or blood-spattered.  He’d thought she might be, but doesn’t see any evidence like that on her.  Just a generally shell-shocked demeanor.  She remains silent as he gets them a room and leads her upstairs.  He supposes their lack of baggage and her behavior will be remarked upon, will be suspicious.  But the job is done, and not near here, so it won’t much matter if they’re noticed.  They just need to get through tonight, and hopefully tomorrow she’ll be more herself.  Then they can go back.

The irrational thought of never going back, of going somewhere, anywhere, with her flits through his mind, but he pushes it away.  What would they do without their handlers, their missions?  How long would they last in the real world?  Besides, then they would be traitors.  And neither of them could stand that, he thinks.

They reach the room and the key grates in the lock, but he gets it open.  She walks passed him and goes to the bed, sitting down immediately.  He deadbolts it behind them and moves over to the window, leaning against it, and assesses her carefully.

“Natalia,” he says.  Her eyes snap into focus and fix on his face.  “Tell me what happened.”  Perhaps a direct order will be effective.

She nods slowly.  “We were…  I’ve been compromised,” she admits, self-loathing in her tone.

“How?” he asks, gentler.

Her brow furrows and she stares at the ground.  “The girl – she and I – we were friends.  I don’t…  I haven’t had that before.  Her family was nice to me.  Nice to the person sent to kill them, to hurt them.  They invited me to be part of the family.  To feel at home.  To be safe there.  It was…  It was different.  I…  I wasn’t prepared,” she says haltingly.  The last statement is firmer than the rest and she looks dejectedly at the pattern in the carpet at her feet.  He doesn’t say anything, not sure what to say, and the silence stretches on.  When she finally looks up, there is a spark of anger in her green eyes.  “What are you going to do about it?”

Somewhat taken aback, he frowns at her.  “Nothing,” he replies.

She jumps to her feet and approaches him, as warily as she ever has in the training room.  “What do you mean?”

For the first time he can remember, he hopes he appears nonthreatening.  “What would I do about it?  I’m not your superior,” he adds when she opens her mouth to speak.  She shuts it again, looking perplexed.

“Then what are you?” she asks, deflated, shoulders drooping.

He chews on his lip uncertainly.  “Your friend,” he murmurs at last.

An odd look crosses her face, then she smirks faintly at him.  The expression brings him some relief, since it is the one he is most accustomed to seeing.  “I don’t have a lot of friends,” she says thoughtfully.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.  “Me neither,” he admits.

She laughs, and he grins.  “It’s not really a part of our business, is it?” she acknowledges, shaking her head.

“No, it’s not, Natalia,” he agrees.  She falls silent, clearly thinking of something.  He waits, but she doesn’t share.  Finally, he clears his throat and cocks his head at her.

A faint smile comes to her lips and she shrugs.  “I was just…  Just wondering what to call you,” she mutters.

The idea is not new, but he hasn’t considered it before.  They call him the Soldier, or the Asset, but mostly they don’t call him anything at all.  “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

She seems startled by that, and he shrugs.  “I don’t remember much of anything before the first day I saw you.”

The look of horror on her face melts into something more self-deprecating, and she lifts a hand to cup his cheek.  “That was a sweet way to phrase it,” she tells him.

He turns his head to press a kiss into her palm.  “It’s how I’ll remember it,” he answers.

The faintest hint of a blush warms her cheeks and she looks downward with a little smile.  “Did you have lessons on how to be charming or is that just for us ladies?”

Tentatively, he puts his right hand on her waist and watches her reaction carefully.  “Just you,” he asserts, causing her to look back up at him.

She licks her lips self-consciously.  “Yeah, well, they’re not exactly my favorite lessons.”

He pulls her closer and kisses her, unable to resist the temptation any longer. 

 

Later, she is much more talkative.  He thinks idly that she doesn’t speak to her peers very often, so perhaps she saves everything up to talk to him.  He’s familiar with the feeling.

“You’re very intimidating, you know.  We were all scared of you when we first saw you,” she’s explaining.

He smiles, tracing her hair down her arm with a fingertip.  With his right hand, of course; he tries not to touch her with his left.  “Was I?” he asks.

Nodding emphatically, she props herself up on her elbow and looks down at him.  “You’re not the friendliest of instructors,” she admonishes.

“Are you sure?”  He lifts an eyebrow at her meaningfully.

“Well, not at the beginning.  You’ve gotten nicer since then,” she relents.  She settles back, looking thoughtful.

“What is it, Natalia?” he murmurs.

She bites her lip, staring at the ceiling.  “Why me?”

“Why you what?”

“There are other girls who are more beautiful, or more charming,” she begins.

He lifts himself enough to kiss her, effectively silencing her.  “You’re the best,” he says simply.  “You always impress me,” he adds when she looks doubtful.

“I bet you say that to all the ladies,” she corrects quietly.

“Oh, Natalia, you’re impossible to please,” he says dramatically, eliciting a pleasant laugh from her.  He does not think about when he’ll be able to hear that lovely sound again.  “Do you think they let me out just to train girls?” he continues.

“Out of what?”

He stills, surprised that it is not common knowledge.  Should he not tell her?  He wants to tell her.  He’s going to.  It doesn’t matter if she’s allowed to know or not.  “I am cryogenically frozen between missions,” he says.  The knowledge seems to upset her and he supposes he’d better not mention their other methods. 

“That’s awful,” she opines angrily.

“I work when I am needed,” he replies.  “We have to make sacrifices to be the best.”

She nods slowly, considering.  “Did you – have you left anyone behind?  Whom you miss?” she wants to know after a moment.

“I don’t think so.”  It’s not something he’s thought about before.

“Will you someday leave me behind?”

Her voice is very soft, perhaps hoping not to be heard.  He kisses her again, gently.  “I hope not,” he tells her fervently.  “Get some sleep, Natalia.  Tomorrow we will have to go back to base.  And they can’t know about – about anything.”

She nods soberly, curling up against him.  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she teases quietly.

He smiles, pressing a kiss into her hair.  “Never,” he promises.


	12. Hate Begins to Spill Across the Screen

The idea that he is frozen and just brought out for missions is repellant, and the closeness she feels toward him is intensely pleasant, but both feelings fade when they return to base.  When Madame Pauk sees Natalia, she immediately embraces her.  And as startling as that reaction is, it is easy to fall back into her usual mindset.  This is her life – training with the other girls, learning to be the best at what she does.  With no qualms about doing whatever she is ordered.  It’s a relief to be back.

They are debriefed together, and the general in charge of operations is surprisingly concerned for her welfare.  He of course inquired about the details of the mission, which she gave him while glossing over her emotional breakdown that resulted.  If he notices her leaving things out, he doesn’t comment on it.  The Soldier is mostly silent during the debriefing, and his contributions are short and to the point, as expected.  The whole situation is stressful, but they get out of there without revealing anything too compromising.  She has the rest of the day off, which is a strange state of affairs.  The Soldier does, as well, his schedule having been postponed indefinitely until his return.  It would not be remarked upon if she spent the rare opportunity in the comfort of her bed; and, if she is not alone, who’s going to notice?

 

Days pass, with most of her life much the same.  She doesn’t go on missions very often, so she isn’t sure if the fact that she hasn’t been assigned any is due to how the last one went.  She applies herself to her lessons and feels very comfortable.  Of course, that is certainly due in part to the Soldier.  He is affectionate, though they keep it secret, and she is lucky to have him.  He’s quite charming, somewhat surprisingly.  It makes her wonder what he did before and how he ended up in this life.  She was brought up to it, but she doesn’t think he was.

Sometimes, he comes to her room during the night.  It’s risky, but those are the best nights.  Until he has a nightmare and she sings softly to him to calm him.  He frequently has nightmares, which upsets her.  She doesn’t usually, though his presence during one is greatly beneficial.  If the other girls notice a change in either of them, no one says anything.  She doesn’t think they would, despite the competitive nature of the program.  Most of them have some form of rebellion against the strict rules of the place, and they bond over the secrets.  Not that she’ll share with anyone, but she is reasonable certain that any laxness in the presence of the other Widows will not be an issue.  It’s Madame who is the problem.

Natalia works hard to keep their mistress from seeing any change in her.  After the out-of-character affection shown in response to her return from the mission, she is more on her toes than usual.  She’d known before that she was one of the best, that they were proud of her.  But she hadn’t expected to be more than a tool, or an asset, to Pauk, who tended to be cool and aloof.  It is probably a good thing for her, but she will have to be much more careful where the Soldier is involved.

 

While she is eating her midday meal, she is surprised to see Yelena come into the dining hall in the hurry.  Putting down her fork, she waits for her friend to approach with a raised eyebrow.  “What’s happened?” she murmurs as Yelena drops into the chair across from her.

“I think there’s a problem with our instructor,” the older girl answers, glancing nervously up and down the table.

“What do you mean?” Natalia asks, her appetite vanishing.

“The general summoned him and he refused to leave my lesson to go.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Natalia frowns, perplexed.  “Was anything else out of the ordinary?”

Yelena shrugs.  “He seemed deep in thought for most of the session, so I was surprised that he was so adamant about staying.  Elena was sent to fetch him, and I think she’s even more terrified of him now.  He was pretty scary when he refused.”

“How’d the rest of the time go?”

“It was only a few more minutes.  I think Elena had to go back and tell them, so they’re probably sending someone else down for him now.  I’m not sure if you’ll have your lesson today, is what I’m saying.”

Natalia nods and looks down at her food, wondering if she can force herself to consume any more of it.  “What do you think they’ll do to him?” she can’t help but ask.

When she looks up, Yelena is watching her closely.  “I expect they’ll find us a new instructor, and he’ll go back to being an asset.”

Biting her lip, she considers.  That won’t be too bad.  She might see him again, in the field.  Somewhere with less strict rules about behavior.  It’s worth hoping for, anyway.  The idea of never seeing him again is painful.  Before she can attempt to reapply herself to her meal, she is aware of a strange stillness passing over the room.  Looking up, she sees Madame Pauk has entered and is scanning over the assembly.  She can’t remember seeing the woman in here before, and feels a little sicker when she spots them and starts heading their way.

“Oh no,” Yelena mutters, and Natalia definitely agrees.

“Natalia, your afternoon lesson is cancelled.  Go to cryptography with Yelena,” Pauk says when she is close enough that her voice doesn’t carry to anyone else.

“Yes, ma’am.  What’s happened?” she asks, unable to resist.

Pauk glances between her and Yelena, skeptical, and Natalia can hear her own heart beating.  “The instructor is… feeling a little under the weather.  I’m sure you’ll be able to get back to work soon,” she says soothingly.

“I see,” she replies, aware that to be too concerned would be problematic.  “Thank you.”

The Madame nods and takes her leave of them.  Yelena is watching her again, but she can’t seem to care.

 

“Did you hear?  He may have killed Renata!” Vera hisses to Natalia as she sits across from her at dinner the next evening.

Her lesson was canceled today, too, as was Yelena’s.  She hadn’t thought he’d be expected to teach anyone, but apparently Renata was given a chance.  “What?” Natalia gasps, genuinely shocked.

Vera seems to enjoy being the one to bear the news.  Elena, Anna, and Yelena are all close enough to hear.  “He was acting strange, I guess, and reacted to her attack without holding anything back.  She’s in the infirmary, and they don’t know if she’s going to make it!”

Natalia shakes her head slowly, unable to believe it.  “Why would he do that?”

Vera shrugs, uninterested in the reason.  Natalia knows she did poorly with the Soldier and rarely takes lessons from him.  “Because he’s crazy, I guess.”

“I heard he gets frozen between missions and could be like a hundred years old,” Elena offers conspiratorially.

“I think they give him a lot of subliminal messages to keep him in control, and sometimes he has to be decommissioned if they aren’t working,” Anna suggests.

Natalia digests this.  “You think they’re going to freeze him again?”  She can feel Yelena’s eyes on her, and hopes that she hasn’t been so obvious to the others.

“Who knows?” Vera says flippantly.

 

She lays in the dark, staring at the ceiling.  Sleep eludes her as she contemplates what her future might hold.  Or, more relevantly, what might be missing from it.  She is considerably startled when her door opens, but immensely relieved to see the Soldier framed in the doorway.

“Natalia,” he murmurs, shutting the door silently behind him.

“Soldier,” she replies, getting to her feet and embracing him.  “I was so worried!”

“I had to see you.  Before, you know…”  He trails off, and kisses her insistently.  When he breaks away, he leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asks softly.

A shudder runs through him.  “I don’t know.  Things keep popping up, I’m getting confused.  I didn’t mean to hurt her, I just…  I didn’t recognize her.  There are all these other, these other things in my head.  I can’t keep them out,” he murmurs brokenly as he clings to her.

She runs her hands slowly up and down his back.  “It’ll be okay,” she tells him uselessly.  “Come to bed,” she adds, more helpfully.  He is obedient, and soon asleep beside her.  Sleep continues to elude her, though, so she is less startled when the door is broken open.  Some small part of her wonders if they have some kind of tracking device on him, and if they’ve never bothered to use it before.  It’s quite possible, though, that he escaped from them and they’ve been searching the whole building, because the soldiers seem almost surprised to see him there.

The men are shouting, but she doesn’t speak.  Neither does the Soldier.  He is dragged away, not fighting them but definitely not helping.  She is aware of insults being hurled in her direction, especially when she follows them to see where he is being taken.  It’s useless, she knows, but she can’t just go back to bed.  They pull him along with less shouting now, though the whole complex must be awake – and wisely staying in their rooms.

They reach a place she hasn’t entered before, containing a metal chair surrounded by some form of technology, and a tall metal tube.  The Soldier balks at the sight of this place, and it takes several of them to drag him through the doorway.  It’s then that he looks at her, for the first time since they were discovered.  They try to get him into the chair, which has restraints, but he fights back, striking as swift and deadly as his reputation garners.  She watches in silent horror as those who remain angrily strap him in and step away.  He watches her until the machine whirs to life and then he screams.  It’s an inhuman sound, like it’s being dragged out of him with a hook, and she covers her ears.

The sounds stop eventually, and she dares to look up.  He looks… different.  Calm is the first word that comes to mind, but it’s more than that.  He’s just… gone.  Blank.  No longer the man she knew.  He looks at her perplexed, as though confused by her distress, and she bites back a sob.  Then one of the men grabs hold of her and drags her out of the room.  She can’t see any reason to fight him; the Soldier isn’t there anymore.

She’s aware of Madame Pauk coming to fetch her, and talking to her for a long time about duty and sacrifice.  And she listens politely, but knows what she’s really saying.  Don’t get too attached in this line of work.  If you want to serve your country, you’ll have to give up what you want most.  There was a reason the Soldier wasn’t given a name, she thinks sadly.  If she wants to keep hers, she’ll have to be careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last Red Room chapter. The next chapter will be an epilogue (but it's really cute so you should stick around!)


	13. Epilogue: We Try to Fill the Spaces In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after CATWS. It ties in with chapter 8 of Terrible Lie, but I'm sure you can follow it without referring to that. Thanks to everyone who's shown their enjoyment of this story!

Something familiar and deeply upsetting awakens her, and she comes to halfway across the room from the bed, a knife in her hand.  Then she realizes it was the sound of James screaming that woke her, and it takes her a few moments to calm down.  He’s stopped by now, so doesn’t need immediate attention.  She has enough time to compose herself before attempting to help him.  She’d forgotten most of it, their time together, but she’d especially blocked what it was like to hear him scream like that.  It isn’t a memory she’d been hoping to regain.

Quietly, slowly, she leaves his bedroom and stays in the doorway until her looks at her.  His expression is terrified, perplexed, and she moves hesitantly toward him.  He doesn’t react except to cling to his blankets and stare at her until she’s right next to the couch where he’d been sleeping.  She speaks to him soothingly and offers her hand, which he eventually takes.  It takes some time, and requires her to be more honest than she has been in years (decades?), but she manages to talk him down.

She wonders as they talk just how much he remembers of his time in the Red Room.  And how much she remembers.  She doesn’t think she had anything done to her like what was done to him, but she can’t be sure.  They could have messed with her memories if it was affecting her performance.  After he’d been taken away from her, she doesn’t know what happened.  Was she able to snap right back into her lessons and training?  Or had she spiraled and had to be altered to return to duty?  Curious as she is, she doesn’t mind not knowing.

It is better to focus on more pressing matters.  Not her sordid past, despite most of her current problems coming from it.  How will she do any missions if she has no covers?  Is Clint right in thinking her house is no longer safe?  How long should she stay here with James, lying low?  Those are the things she should be thinking about, not how she ended up this way.  James needs her here and now, anyway, and needs to see that there is the possibility of coming back from what was done to him.  To them.

When he tells her that he’s broken, she gets angry.  Not so much at him, of course, but at the people who made him (and her) this way.  “You’re not broken,” she tells him firmly, standing up.  He watches her, blue eyes wide and clearly surprised by her reaction.  “They wanted to make a perfect weapon, and, by God, they did.  But just because you aren’t him anymore doesn’t mean you’re broken.  You’re not malfunctioning, James.  You’re just being –” she searches for a word “– human.”

Earlier in the evening, before the nightmares, he’d told her that she was the only thing that made him feel human in the last seventy years.  And it hurts to think about that, both for his sake and because she fears that kind of responsibility.  He’s a good man, or was, better than she’s ever been.  How helpful can she really be to him?

The smile that slowly appears on his face is grim at best.  “Do most people wake up like this?” he asks bitterly.

Frowning with something like annoyance, she pulls him to his feet and looks up at him intently.  “Most people haven’t gone through what you have.  But you survived.  And here you are, still surviving.  So you may not sleep as much as everyone else.  But we aren’t like everyone else, James.  So don’t compare yourself to them,” she tells him.

“Then to whom should I compare myself?  Steve?  Because that’s not going to end well for anyone,” he replies, the bitter edge remaining in his tone.

She shakes her head at him.  “James, you were with me in the Red Room.  You may not have been completely yourself, but you were getting closer every day.  And you taught me how to reclaim myself from those monsters.  Even if you don’t remember it, I owe you for that.”

He frowns, clearly surprised.  “I did?”

“Yes, James,” she says with a small smile.

Slowly, he looks down at his hands again.  “You were the one good thing,” he whispers, echoing what he had told her earlier.

Following his gaze, she reaches to take his hands in hers and turn his attention back to her face.  “I know you think you’ve only done terrible things.  But I’ve seen you do some impressive things with your hands.  And I don’t think, James, that you should sleep out here anymore.  Come with me,” she suggests, heart pounding at the reality of the offer, of where this could lead.  Because of who he is and how fragile he is right now; is she wrong to act on this impulse?

His dour expression changes to one conservatively hopeful, and she hides a smile, feeling a little relieved.  “Alright,” he says.

She releases one hand and leads the way to his room, not glancing back at him.  He follows silently and shuts the door behind them.  After a moment of hesitation, she lets go of him entirely and climbs back into the spot where she had been sleeping before.  She is aware of him watching her, waiting, but she doesn’t look at him, just settles back.

The weight of him next to her is startlingly familiar and she wonders how often he’d snuck into her room before they were caught. 

“Natalia,” he murmurs tentatively, questioning.

“James,” she replies.

“What else – what else do you remember about me?”

She turns onto her side to look at him, and he seems afraid of her answer.  “I remember a good instructor who taught me everything he knew,” she offers.  He bites his lip and nods, waiting.  “I remember a man who saw my potential.  A man who was kinder to me than anyone I’d known.”  His brow furrows at that, but he doesn’t speak.  “A good friend.  My first, probably,” she admits.

“A friend?” he asks in an even tone, despite the pained look in his eyes.

She smiles at his foolishness.  “I don’t mean like Steve is my friend,” she teases and he smiles ever so slightly.

“That’s – that’s good.”

“What do you remember about me?” she asks, tossing her head to show she’s still teasing.  That whatever memories he’s lost are just fine.

He gets a faraway look and considers.  “You told me stories, talking a lot.  No one else talked to me, mostly just gave orders and asked if I could follow them.  You were always interested in what I had to say, and took to heart whatever advice I gave you.”

“Go on,” she murmurs.

His gaze fixes on hers again and he’s silent for a few moments.  “I remember kissing you.”

“Do you?”

He clears his throat.  “And… more than that.”

Warmth crosses her cheeks against her will and she hopes it’s too dark for him to be able to tell.  “I see,” she says with a smile.

“Do you remember the first night we – the first night we were together?” he asks haltingly.

She isn’t sure.  “Maybe,” she says.

He wets his lips and seems like he wants to look away, but doesn’t.  “In a hotel, after you – when you had trouble on that mission.”

“When I failed it, you mean,” she answers, and he nods slightly.  The fact of it had always been burned in her brain, but she’d forgotten the details until he came back into her life.  Her tone is softer when she answers his question.  “Yes.”

“Do you remember what I said to you?”  The importance of the question seems to hurt him and she’s pained not to know what he’s looking for in answer.

“I think so,” she offers.

“I said you always impressed me.  And you still do.  I don’t…  I don’t know how you recovered from all that.  How you do what you do, and are still so good at it,” he tells her fervently.

She leans forward to kiss him gently, and he closes his fingers around her forearm to keep her there.  “You’ll get the hang of it, too,” she promises, leaning back slightly.

“How do you know?” he whispers.

“Because I know you,” she answers.

He seems satisfied with that response, at least enough that he doesn’t ask any more questions.  Well, not existential ones.  Later, when he’s dozing, she lies on her side beside him and studies the place where his metal arm is attached.  She’s always been curious about it, but never seemed to have the time to satisfy her curiosity before.  The hand is not particularly cold; machinery rarely is, but it is not quite the same temperature as his other hand.  The arm was certainly heavier than his real one, and she wonders how he manages it.

 And how it is supported.  She runs her fingers across his collarbone and down to his ribs, trying to determine if any of them are made of something more substantial than bone.  Fast enough to startle her, he snatches her wrist to arrest her movement.  Realizing the effect his reaction had on her, he lifts her fingers to his lips and kisses them lightly.

“Tickles,” he explains hoarsely.  She smiles as he slides his left arm under her pillow and pulls her against his chest using his right.  “Go to sleep.”  Wrapping an arm loosely around his waist, she settles down to do as asked.


End file.
